iGo to Afghanistan
by ItzamanaajB'alam
Summary: After a tenuous romance with Sam during his Freshman year of college, Freddie's heart is broken. To escape his pain, he drops out, enlisting as a Cav Scout in the Army, and is deployed with Gibby to A-stan. An action packed Seddie.
1. Chapter 1 Fredward Benson wants to die

iGO TO AFGHANISTAN

Chapter 1: Fredward Benson wants to die.

The recruiters office was plastered obnoxiously wall to wall with various posters, sporting phrases like, "Be all that you can be," or "there's strong, and then there's army strong," along with pictures of proud young men and women striking dynamic poses in their ACU's. The air condition was blasting, making Freddie Benson shiver as he sat across from the ribbon and medal bedecked recruiter.

"You ok son? You look like you're trembling over there. There's no reason to be nervous about joining now, I'll get you squared away and ready to go."

Freddie tried to politely smile, but the effort to make a positive expression would just hurt too damn much he thought. Just get this over with so I can go fight.

"No Staff Sergeant," he replied smartly, "not at all, it's just a bit cold in here."

"Oh, my apologies son, I'll go turn it up a bit." The recruiter got up from his swiveling chair from behind his desk and adjusted the icy thermostat up a bit.

The recruiter returned to his chair and got back to business with his prospective recruit, hopefully, another check off towards his monthly quota, and a step towards his Uncle Sam funded check.

"So why do you want to join the army son? As I'm sure you know, we do have a variety of great benefits, health care, adventure, money for college, job training, but why do you-" he glanced down at Freddie's enlistment papers to remind himself of the brown haired 18 year olds name, "Fred-Ward Benson…is, is that how you say it?"

"You can just call me Freddie, sergeant," replied the unfortunately named youth somewhat curtly.

"Ok, that works, Freddie, why do you want to become a warrior and a part of a team?"

He couldn't say the real reason why, or else he'd be immediately thrown out of the office, his psych evaluation not even being worth doing, he'd be considered insane and a danger to himself. The truth was painful to him, so much so that Freddie didn't even want to think of it, for just the mere thought of the causation of his anguish, the thing that had wrent all his heart strings, was just too much to bear. Betrayal. That's what had happened.

The summer before, all the years of antagonism between Freddie and Sam had come to a strange state of detente. He had been accepted to the University of Chicago, hoping to achieve a double major in Sociology and Computer Science, perhaps one day to use his tech savvy to help better understand criminal behavior. The deviant mind of Princess Puckett had given him the idea. Carly, who for the last two years had been in a serious relationship with her old bad boy fling, Griffen, was moving away the two of them attending UCLA for film school. Sam was staying at home working a new job (most definitely not at Chili my Bowl though, she'd been banned from the chain since her freshman year, and her first misadventure with employment,) and attending one of the local state schools near Seattle. With the old iCarly gang fragmenting, the childish antagonistic flirting that had previously been the hallmark of Freddie and Sam's relationship fell to the wayside, (mostly, that is, not even the Jaws of Life could pry the affectionate teasing out of Sam,) the deeper emotions that the two held for each other had become unveiled. After an intimate encounter at Gibby's going away party, who after getting into shape had joined the Army, Sam and Freddie first had their tenderness manifest, a long night of drunken lovemaking was enough to prove to them that they were past the ribbing and mutual "hatred". Of course at first, the two had wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but they both knew that was their strange deep mutual passion could not be squelched, and needless to say, when it came time for Freddie to go away to the U of Chicago, Sam, despite her best efforts to mask it with humor and insult, and the usual quips of "who's gonna give you tick baths now Freddork?" or "Hey Fredwierd," they both knew what they shared could only be described as an abiding, passionate, albeit secret, love. Months passed like this, emails between them, she said she'd wait for his return. It was unbearable to be apart, but worth it. Then out of the blue, she met that dipshit, Chris, at a Cuttlefish concert, and she was happy with him, or at least that's how it seemed.

Freddie couldn't admit his sorrow to Carly, she couldn't know that he had feelings for Sam, it would just be too , she didn't even know that the two had been seeing each other. There was no one in whom he could confide, Gibby was in Afghanistan, Spencer, though a true bro, was not secure given his proximity to Carly, and his proclivity for inadvertent indiscretion. He couldn't even imagine telling Sam how much he loved her, but also how much she had hurt him, his heart blackened. He didn't want to ruin her happiness, though it felt as if it came at the expense of his own soul.

So he resolved, with no chance left for love, without further causing unhappiness to the one woman he desired more than any riches or Galaxy Wars collectible, he would follow in the footsteps of Gibby, throwing away his full scholarship at the U of Chicago, hopefully to be target practice for some Taliban Mujahideen. Of course, Ms. Benson had objected strongly, making up stories to the recruiter about Freddie's homosexual tendencies, incurable heart murmur, or schizophrenia. Thankfully, the recruiter smelled the bullshit of an astronomically protective mother. During the time he told his mother that he was joining, he ended up having to rent the room by the elevator winch from Lewbert as he had done many years before during his first insurrection against the iron will of Marissa Benson. Furthermore, Freddie was 18, and in his eyes, a man now, and free to get killed if he wanted to.

"Son, son, you still alive in there? You wanna come back down to earth?" the recruiter asked Freddie confusedly. In a daze of thought, Freddie had been distracted, not even realizing that the recruiter had been trying to raise him from his melancholy reverie.

"Oh, sorry, just thinking of a good answer sir." Freddie replied, embarrassed.

"Its fine Freddie," replied the recruiter somewhat suspiciously, "Now what did you think of? Why do you want to become a soldier?"

Freddie looked the recruiter dead in the eyes and gave him a maniacal smirk, running his hands through his hair as he said evenly, "I wanna kill fuckin' hajji's. Sir."

A month later, Fort Benning, GA

"uh ten-HUT!" screamed the Drill Sergeant fiercely, prompting the platoon of nervous looking recruits to all snap to attention. His ACU's bearing the name 'Benson,' on its nametape, Freddie stood at the front of his platoon, holding the tall guidon sharply at an angle in front of him, its red and white banner flapping in the early morning breeze at Fort Benning.

"Pla-TOON! Whadda we do?" screamed the Drill Sergeant interrogatively to his crowd of nervous young recruits before them. Of the answer they were confident, especially Freddie.

"KILL! KILL! KILL!" replied the platoon forcefully.

"Damn fuckin straight we do. Though seeing the state of you pathetic fucks I'd say that ya'll will be doing more of getting killed, killed, killed, than anything. So let's work on it ladies!"

"Whats the word sergeant, whats the word?" the platoon ritualistically called out in unison.

"Five mile fun run!" he replied with ardor, "Left face, and one, two, three,…"

The platoon took off running, chanting cadences as they went. Freddie felt good as the cool morning air entered his lungs, his legs feeling the burn of hard running, but he couldn't slow down. Holding the guidon showed that he was in a position of leadership in his training platoon, and the better he did here, the better his chances of getting the tough job of a Cavalry Scout that he wanted. More chance of enemy contact, more chance he wouldn't have to think about his pain. However, maybe he didn't want to die just yet. The army life was rather to his liking, and his lifelong self discipline that his mother had inculcated into his fiber of being, from tick baths, to room inspections, Freddie had the whole personal responsibility schtick well under hand. Get some, he thought to himself, his warrior brain ticking away underneath his newly shaven head. If Sam could see me now, he thought, cocky and blood drunk on the warrior ethos of basic training, I think she'd leave that fuckup loser boyfriend in an instant anyway.


	2. Chapter 2 Astan

Chapter 2: A-stan

The C-130 landed on the tarmac at Bagram air base in Afghanistan, carrying a load of the newest reinforcements for the 5-73 Cavalry of the 82nd Airborne division. Once the plane had come to a stop and the rear ramp had dropped, Private Freddie Benson along with his platoon-mates exfilled the cavernous cargo bay of the plane. From the darkness of the planes interior, Freddie was immediately blinded by the light of the burning sun over the Afghan desert, and absolutely broiled by the wave of heat that hit him from outside once the ramp opened. Wearing his ACU's, full combat pack, his IOTV on, and his weapon, an M4, strapped to his front, the heat seemed to make everything heavier, and his uniform stifling.

"Hey ese, its fuckin A-stan! Feels like back home in Tuscon, eh, sept the fuckin hajji's wipe their asses with their hands!" squawked Freddie's squad-mate, PFC Antonio Esquivel, a fast talking latino SAW gunner, with a penchant for taquitos, titties, and cerveza. "Mane, even back home, the most chinga motherfuckers still wipe their ass with papel! You know what I'm sayeeng?"

Freddie smiled, Esquivel was always a hoot, not to mention a deadly accurate shot with his huge M249 SAW.

Once the platoon had exfilled the C-130, they were called to attention by the Lieutenant, Lieutenant Danvers, simply known by his men as the LT. Standing in formation for inspection by the General who was receiving them was no cakewalk under the hot sun, and Freddie felt every one of the nearly 200 pounds of gear and weapons that were strapped to his back and chest. Especially the fuckin IOTV, if the damn vest wasn't so damn protective, he'd just throw the fucker off.

The platoon's sergeant,major, the right hand man of the LT, a grizzled old bastard by the name of Steele stood at the head of the alert platoon and barked out in his husky voice an order that Freddie wasn't so happy to receive.

"All-righty boys, lets show the General what cav scouts are made of, Hooah?"

"Hooah!" the platoon echoed.

"Now drop down an gimme fifty!"

The mass of men dropped their packs and hit the deck, rising up and down rhythmically to the sound of the sergeants cadence. Sweat poured off of Freddie like Niagra Falls. Was this really better than having to think of Sam being fucked by some jerk, he thought wryly. Survey says yes, I'd take an ass-whooping from the Sarge any day before I'd have to see another man making her happier than I.

Welcome to fucking Afghanistan.


	3. Chapter3 Forward Operating Base Shorabak

Chapter 3: Forward Operating Base Shorabak

After a few blessed days at the air conditioned oasis in the middle of the desert that Bagram air base seemed to Freddie to be, the Platoon eventually had to leave paradise. After being issued ammo for his M4, about 180 rounds to carry on his person, plus a few frags and smoke grenades, Freddie and the rest of the 5-73rd mounted Chinooks and Blackhawks to take them to their next location, an obscure F.O.B., where for the next 15 months the Troopers of the platoon would surveil and engage any and all Taliban who were making hit and runs from across the Pakistani border that they could. In a nutshell, the time for kicking ass and taking lots of unpronounceable Hajji names had come, and Fredward Benson considered himself to be the tip of the spear.

The ride in the bird to Shorabak was spectacular, Freddie thought, himself getting to sit by one of the portside windows of the aircraft, and from the vantage of 1000 feet, the desert, the little rivers criss crossing the landscape like veins, and the distant peaks of the Hindu Kush range were more beautiful than any landscape Freddie had yet laid eyes on. It astounded him how such a beautiful place could be so endemically fraught with centuries of violence, and backward ways that were not much removed from that of the late Neolithic. It was somewhat surreal to him, flying above so high, over a land hardly changed by the sands of time, that he, carried upon himself some of the most advance pieces of technology humans had yet invented and yet they were all oriented towards efficient killing. Seemed almost wrong. However, Freddie was just glad that he was on the side with the biggest guns. For most of his life, he had been a victim, to his mothers incessant nagging and neurotic dictum, to the flirtatious antagonism that Sam always heaped upon him, now turned to betrayal and broken promises, or the constant rejection that he had received from Carly when he was once in love with her. Now, the tables had turned, Freddie could finally feel how it felt to be the punisher, the enforcer. He felt the cold polymer grip of his M4 in his hand, the extra weight that live rounds had in the magazine when it was inserted into his weapon. The song "Damn it feels Good to be a Gangsta," came to mind, causing Freddie to chuckle.

"What're you laughin' about Fredwad?" inquired one of his squad-mates, PFC Hurst, a freckled country boy who had independently adopted Sam's teasing appellation of the nerdy soldier.

"Nothing Hurst. Except, that," he paused, in mock seriousness, "that Damn it feel good to be a Gangsta!"

In a flurry of dust, the multiple birds landed outside the FOB, their doors opening, and soldiers rushing out, and into the uplifted gates of the base. Heavily fortified positions flanked the entrance. Hardened dust covered soldiers were ensconced in the sides, manning heavy fifty caliber machine guns. Those guys look pretty roughed up, though Freddie. Who knows, he mused, in 15 months I'll probably look like a bad-ass too. For now, though he was quite green, straight out of one station Basic, where he learned the combined basics of Soldiering, along with the techne of the Cavalry Scout.

Inside the walls of the FOB, which were mostly just berms of dirt and sandbags, there were a few dingy locally made buildings, of straw brick, as well as super large olive drab tents where the soldiers had set up improvised barracks as well as a, gym, and storage facilities, particularly for holding water, the most valuable commodity in the harshness of the desert. Central to the base was a large main avenuet, if it could be called one, where various armored vehicles such as MRAPs and Strykers were parked, some being worked on by mechanics, others being loaded up with ammo for missions. In one corner, some carousing soldiers played horseshoes, nearby was a makeshift latrine, where a soldier noisily released his constipated MRE turds. Pleasant, thought Freddie, I'm gonna have to burn my own shit.

Following the LT and the Sergeant Major, the Platoon made their accommodations within one of the large tents. It was rather dark inside, only illuminated by a few Spartan looking light fixtures suspended from the top of the tent. The smell inside was that of unwashed men, the pervasive odor of cordite associated with all things firearm, and the generally dry, yet rank odor that the desert here seemed to possess, perhaps it was just the heat accentuating the fetid odors of men who hadn't taken a proper shower in months. Maybe it was just the smell of 1000 years of being home to people who smelled like ass, invaders who smell like ass, and the two of them killing each other and leaving the other to rot. Either way, this was home now, thought Freddie, and it was beginning to grow on him.

"Chow is at 1745 gentleman, until then, adjust to your surroundings and make it like home," said the LT, leaving the tent to go attend to other business, his command greeted with a chorus of "hooahs."

Several soldiers already in the tent came over to meet the newbies, a rather herculean staff sergeant coming up to Freddie looking his small yet strong frame up and down, like a farmer inspecting new livestock for his slaughter.

"You greenhorns here to augment the 5-73rd?" drawled the Staff Sergeant.

"Hooah sergeant, we're here to kick some ass," replied Freddie, overconfidently.

"Hah," scoffed the hardened vet, what looked to be a scar running down his face diagonally, perhaps from taking shrapnel, "This lil' twerp thinks he's something in this world. Let me tell you boy, you ain't shit until the Taliban has got you pinned down, your ammo's low, and no fuckin' bird is gonna come give you resupply, then we'll see whether or not you can kick some ass."

Freddie retreated as the scarred Sergeant spoke, each word enunciated with a blood curdling ferocity that could only be engendered in the thorny womb of combat.

"Well, Sergeant, I have to correct you here, but this one Fredward Benson is something in this world," shouted Hurst, "This fucker is on that web show, or was anyway, you ever seen it, iCarly!"

Freddie didn't need now to be singled out as the fag who hung out with two girls making a show that included skits such as "hey what am I licking," and "random dancing." Furthermore, he didn't want to be reminded of the one marker from his past that he was here specifically to get away from, that blonde headed she devil, who had captured his heart and then left him strung out like an addict.

"No fuckin way, why so it is!" replied the grizzled NCO, "It is ole Fredwad! Ain't that what that sexy little blonde cunt done called you? Fuckin technical producer! Ha, my daughter used to watch that ding show all the time. I never did understand it, but hell yes son. It's an honor to serve with such a celebrity. Don't mean you're gonna kick no ass, but I'm still gonna have to write home and tell my Lula May that I met that boy from iCarly. She thought you were right cute, ya' know!"

Freddie blushed, part from the embarrassment of flattery, part from the resentment that he was now going to be forever associated with the one thing he wanted to run away from. He couldn't get away from the specter of Sam's relationship, her betrayal, not even though he was halfway around the world in a combat zone, it still stalked his mind.

Suddenly from the crowd of soldiers emerged a large, shirtless one, making an incoherent hollering that sounded like a mixture of a cow giving birth, and an infuriated cat getting a bath. Soon enough Freddie realized that it was infact a squeal of glee that he was hearing.

Gibby.

"Freddie! Freddie! Freddie! You're here, what the fuck are you doing here! You fucking nerd, what are you doing in A-stan! Man oh man! I talked to Carly about it the other day, but I seriously thought she was joking, and now you're in the 5-73rd! What chance? What a chance?"

Gibby simply mobbed Freddie with bearhugs and various other roughing ups, as he said this, jumping up and down like a school girl.

"Ha! Calm down Gib, jesus h!" Freddie said, feeling rather violated. "Christ though Gib, you, don't look…"

"I know!" Gibby cut in, "I look sexxay, right? I don't look like a fat cake, I look like a hunk huh? That's the real Gibby! 1000% Gibby! I sent Tasha back pics and she said just lookin' at my swoll ass made her get all wet!"

"Yea, man, you do look…good," admiring Gibby's eight pack of abs and ridiculously swollen pecs and biceps. This was not the same Gibson that had once been turned into Gibby Parmesean on iCarly. "Also, Gibby, there's no such thing as 1000%..." remarked Freddie jokingly.

"Aw shut up you nerd!" said Gibby, "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too man me too," replied Fredward, half glad to have an old friend around, half further chagrined, as though the universe just wouldn't let him forget the past.

"Hey Gibson!" a random soldier called out, "Who's your boyfriend? Fucking loser, haha!"

"Shut up Dominique!" replied Gibby rancorously, "and I'm not a loser, my mom thinks I'm awesome!"

Freddie chuckled at that rebuttal, Gibby had been using it for years, and still it rendered his position none the more valid…in any mind but his that is.

"Well shit man," said Gibby, his army wrapped fraternally around Freddie's shoulders, "Lemme show you around, then, we can get some chow, whaddya say?"

At least he could make new positive memories with this one part of his past, thought Freddie as he and Gibby left the tent, out back into the scorching evening sun of the Afghan desert.

"A tour sounds great Gib, and so does chow," said Freddie, beginning to beam and his stomach beginning to rumble.

"Atta boy," Gibby replied, giving his old friend a noogie.


	4. Chapter 4 How it Happened

Chapter 4: How it happened

6 Months earlier.

Chicago University was just what Freddie had always wanted, the freedom to be independent of his domineering mother, the chance to meet new people with similar interests, the AV club was huge there, as well as various computer science, sociology, and gaming clubs. Within his first month at the UofC, Freddie had blossomed into a much more independent, confident young man, and had a whole gaggle of similarly nerdy friends. However, despite his new found intellectual and social liberation, he was haunted by what he had left behind him. Not just his two best friends in the whole world, the perpetually rainy city which he had known for years and loved, but something more.

After all the years of antagonism, the precollege summer and the impending realization that for the iCarly gang, this would be the end for now, the old façade of hatred had fallen away from Sam and Freddie's relationship. Sure, he still loved Carly, but as they all grew older, his love for Carly transitioned into something more sisterly, while his own and Sam's hearts only grew more and more intertwined. Sure, she'd always have a special insult saved for him, a smack, or ribbing, but behind closed doors, they became tender lovers.

It had all started at Gibby's going away party for basic training, a hotter than average June night, senior year of High school over, Ridgeway behind them forever. Carly had offered to host the party, and they were to kick it off with doing the final on air broadcast of iCarly before their parting of ways. It was a bittersweet event, and none of them could help but shed a few nostalgic tears once Freddie said, "and we're clear," for the final time. A whole chapter of their lives was passing and vanishing into the impenetrable ether of time, and for the forseeable future.

After the broadcast, the party began in earnest, Cuttlefish blaring on the stereo, and the libations, supplied by Spencer (courtesy of Socko's microbrewery owning cousin, Brewster,) were flowing freely. Once the dancing began, fueled by a bacchanalian craze of booze, passions, and youthful lust, the dance became hot and heavy between Freddie and Sam, her grinding against him, he caressing her gracefully feminine yet athletic figure. Their lips brushed as they danced, tasting the scent of beer on the others breath, as well as their scents, antibiotic toothpaste for Freddie, and a mixture of perfume and fried chicken from Sam. For them, as much as they would have been reluctant to admit it at another time, the others smell was utterly intoxicating, and Freddie headily drank in the smell and taste of his partner. As the night wound on, the two were swiftly drunk off of another, and soon enough they had retreated up stairs to the seclusion of the iCarly studio, to be alone together.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, nub," Sam slurred out drunkenly, as the two of them stumbled back onto the bean bag chairs of the iCarly studio, "but I think I want y-"

With a passionate kiss, Freddie cut her off, wanting the same thing she did. They kissed until breathless, Freddie then turning to kissing along her tanned jawline and neck, she biting his ear seductively. As his hands caressed her hips and breasts, he tentatively fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, exposing a camisole and black bra underneath. After removing the blouse and camisole, Freddie began kissing her chest, Sam enjoying the sensuality of his tongue on her flesh, moaning sympathetically. Breaking him off momentarily, she removed her bra exposing her full breasts, now swollen in the flourishing of womanhood, her pale pink nipples pleasantly round and soft. It took no suggesting for Freddie's mouth to find them, as well as his hands, arousing wimpers of pleasure as his tongue brought her ecstasy. Soon enough Sam went to returning the favor, removing Freddie's pants, her mouth finding his manhood like a spear, her voluptuous pouty lips and soft tongue enjoying the task of sucking him off more than any ribs or brisket. Before he came, she stopped, a look shared between them mutually communicating what they both wanted, and in a flurry of passionate disrobing, the two were naked, and after producing a condom, (Freddie always having that Benson sense of safety first, came prepared even for though he never expected to get laid,) Freddie was inside her, another first between them, their virginity they took for each other, as they had several years before first kissed each other on the fire escape. Though the experience of her hymen breaking wasn't particularly enjoyable for Sam, once the two of them began to ease into the rhythm of making love, it was all over too soon, yet they were both left breathless by the flesh of the other.

They laid there, in the dark on the bean bag chairs beneath a blanket for several hours, until only after the noise of the party had died down in the wee hours of the morning. The hours they spent together, flesh on flesh in each other's arms, kissing and caressing, staring into the other's eyes only cemented the undeniable truth that they had both known for so long, yet had never had the stones to admit to each other, each blinded by their childish antagonism. They loved each other. Few words passed between them, but few were needed to communicate the feeling, it was warm and enveloping, yet powerful, like a wave crashing on top of them from a summer sea. The music and dancing finally stopped as the sun rose the next morning over Seattle, urging the sleepy lovers to don their clothes again, in hopes of not being found out. They took the elevator down from the studio to the first floor, to avoid detection by Carly, who might ask why they had been away from the party for so long. Once down in the lobby, where Lewbert sneered at them, they strode hand in hand out to the street, where Freddie could walk Sam home, not wanting to risk driving with the booze still in his system. After a few blocks they got to Sams apartment, now words seemed appropriate, yet what to say was not so obvious.

"So," Freddie began tentatively, holding Sams hands in his lovingly, "I really enjoyed last night. I've never felt so…"

"Oh don't get all gooshy on me Freddork," Sam teased lovingly. She couldn't help but smile, whispering in his ear as she raised her lips to kiss him goodbye, "I've always wanted you."

Freddie chuckled, somehow the idea of Sam always wanting him didn't quite compute, at least in relation to his old paradigm of their relationship.

" So, I guess we shouldn't tell Carly, should we?" Freddie inquired

"We probably shouldn't tell her that we, you know,"

"Fucked?" Freddie said.

"Yea," replied Sam, still in something of disbelief at how those words sounded, coming from her old foil, who she now held lovingly in her arms, the way she had truly always wanted it. "However, I've gotta come clean. I did tell Carly that I liked you."

"What?" Freddie said, surprised, "when was this?"

"Last year actually," she replied somewhat embarrassed, "I told her after I knew that there was nothing in between the two of you anymore, because I wanted to ask for her blessing, I guess you could say. I wanted to know, from my best friend, if I could have you all for my own, when the time came." Sam gulped, afraid that her confession might perturb Freddie in its implications for her feelings. Feelings, something Sam Puckett didn't deal with often enough at least in relation to herself.

"Wow," said Freddie, pleased with the news, "asking for permission, I feel almost like a hot commodity."

"Oh don't let it get to your head, Fredwierd," Sam said in playful scorn, squeezing him on the arm as she did so. Her face flushed crimson, obviously coming to terms with this was embarrassing.

"Well, Sam Puckett," Freddie said in mock seriousness.

"Yes?" she quipped back, making doe eyes.

"I'm fucking glad that you did, because I know I've wanted you, in my own strange way for a while now. Even when I was infatuated with Carly, something told me, that maybe you and I were meant to be together. So, I'm all yours if you're all mine.?

"Definitely," she answered, affirming his sentiments with a long and passionate kiss, the two of them tasting each other thoroughly inside and out, the kiss terminating with Sam saucily tugging out Freddie's lip, the resulting slurp causing them both to giggle.

"Well," Freddie said resignedly, " I should probably get back home, help Carly clean up, then I'm sure my mom will want to spray me. I'm not free of that shit yet. God…."

Sam laughed, "Ok, Fredward, well, have fun, momma's boy" she said sarcastically both of them knowing the double meaning of that statement.

Freddie rolled his eyes, then kissed her tenderly once more. As they parted ways, Sam turning to enter her apartment building, she yelled back at him, "Call me?"

Freddie smiled his affirmation, blowing her a kiss as he left, and not turning around until she was beyond his eyesight, taking in the glorious sight of the blonde curls on her head, shining in the morning sun.

"I love that girl," he said to himself, under his breath. "I love her, I love her, I love her."

"Benson! Benson! Get the fuck up dude, we're Oscar Mike in ten mikes, get your gear and let's roll dude!"

Freddie groggily awakened from the good dream he was having, more an old memory, to find Hurst above him, shaking him into consciousness, fully decked out in IOTV, MICH,FLIC and holding his M4, with an M203 attached.

"Fucking shit, man," Freddie replied groggily, "I'm up," he said rising and yawning, groping for his ACU's to put on, having been sleeping only in his skivvies to be able to bear the oppressive Afghan heat. Quickly getting himself squared away was no problem for Freddie, having had to get dressed and geared up in five minutes flat old hat by the end of blue phase in basic training. Having ten mikes to get something done was practically luxurious.

Once he was dressed and geared up, he took up his M4 and left the tent, to find his squad-mates congregating around one of the MRAPs, getting the truck loaded up with extra ammo and water for the days patrol. Some of the men were smoking casually, inspecting their weapons, others checking out the patrols route on the blue force tracker that was installed in the command seat of the MRAP. Freddie, still the consummate tech geek, went to investigate the state of the art blue force.

"So the QRF will have six Victors along this road, going northeast, towards the Pakistani border, CQ will also be providing a reconnaissance bird, a Kiowa just to give us a vantage from the sky, and air support if we need it. Otherwise, we're just going to go up the road, thankfully ANA isn't gonna be getting in our way this time, and go into the next village and try and see what Human intel we can eke from the village elders. One of our delta guys told us that he has seen some suspicious activity going on in the rice paddies outside of the village, so we might want to prepare for contact, if we're lucky."

The LT had been briefing the Sergeant that would be riding in Freddies MRAP on the mission itinerary, Freddie standing over to the side, just listening. Once he was finished talking, the LT noticed Freddie, and came over to say hello.

"How's it going Private Fredwad?" asked the LT good naturedly. Only a few years older than Freddie himself, and fresh out of west point, the LT didn't find it hard to relate to his men, especially the more intellectual members of his platoon like Freddie.

"I'm ok sir, just adjusting to the heat. Seattle's not exactly so ass chappingly hot," Freddie replied.

"Ha," Laughed the LT, "Roger that Freddie. Well, I know you're a good soldier, and can take a little shit, Hooah?"

"Hooah," Freddie replied in the army fashion, appreciating his superiors confidence in him.

"Tell you what," the LT continued in a rather hushed voice, " I'm not so sure that the Sergeant has such a good grasp on how to work that blue force tracker, and I know you're something of a tech god, so if he starts making things go FUBAR, I'm gonna count on you to straighten things out, Hooah?"

"Hell yea sir," Freddie replied, further encouraged by his superiors request.

"Well, stay frosty out there, you guys will be on point, so keep an eye out, ok, Benson? I can't afford to lose a soldier like you," said the LT, beginning to leave towards his own Victor.

"Sir!" Freddie affirmed heartily.

Wow, Freddie thought, what did I do to get in so good with the LT? This is a lot of faith he's putting in me, so don't fuck it up Freddork.

"Benson!" called out the Sergeant, "I want your skinny ass on the fifty, ya hear?"

"Hooah sir!" replied Freddie with gusto, climbing into the gun turret of his victor, and beginning to inspect the large M2 fifty caliber machine gun that sat atop it. As he pulled back the charging handle to make sure the chamber was clear, the MRAP's engine started up, a thunderous roar, and the column of victors slowly rolled out, the sun just barely beginning to clear the Horizon.

Stay frosty, Freddie thought to himself, this is the real chizz now.


	5. Chapter 5 The Mission

Chapter 5: Mission

The road to the village was a long, winding, and predictably dusty journey, the village-generously called that-was about thirty kilometers away from the FOB. Once they arrived, the sun was high in the sky, and Freddie was shocked at the sight before him, and that anyone was even going as far as to call it a village, it was at best a hamlet, more reasonably a glorified camp. About ten structures, all in various states of disrepair stood in a fracas in the middle of the desert, each made of straw brick or sun baked mud, reinforced with sagging old timbers. Children played in the streets, wearing tattered and soiled caftans, splashing in fetid puddles of water with their bare or occasionally sandaled feet. Faces smudged with dirt and chaffed by the elements, Freddie was surprised to see huge grins on their faces, as though they had something to be grateful for, even that they were happy at the presence of heavily armed soldiers approaching their homes.

Upon hearing the roar of the MRAPs and the excited cries of their children, some of the village men, two dozen in all, emerged from their huts, and began waving at the oncoming vehicles. Once they had entered the village, some of the senior NCO's and the LT dismounted, as well as the translator, a rather scummy man contracted out of Kabul, wearing a pair of stolen Kanye shades and a blue police flak vest that he had no doubt conned off of someone before he was hired by the US Army. His name was Ishmael, and he reminded Freddie in no uncertain terms of an Afghan Lewbert.

Some of the troopers dismounted, setting up a loose perimeter around the Victors, chatting with the kids who swarmed the vehicles, who as usually commenced to begging for candy, food, water, or just using their broken English, mainly curse words, to interact with the soldiers. While Freddie stayed up in the MRAP turret, keeping security from his fifty cal, he saw Gibby egress from one of the vehicles behind him, getting out, shooting the shit with some of the kids. Freddie waved to Gibby, who yelled back a Gibby like response of, "who da man?"

Predictably, the kids mobbed the chubby cheeked (no amount of working out seemed to be able to get rid of Gibby's fat baby face sadly,) soldier, who entertained them by booty dancing for them, taking MRE skittles out of the arm pockets of his Combat shirt and distributing it to the snot nosed kids.

"Here you go tykes, candy, candy, can you say candy?" Gibby asked, teasingly holding the candy above the kids heads so they would jump for it.

"Fuck you mister, bitch, cunt, hello! I bitch slap you America!" replied one of the kids who had obviously interacted with several grunts in his time.

"Ha, fuckin kid. Didn't your Suzy rotten-crotch Hajji momma ever tell you to watch your mouth?" Gibby joked, giving the kid a pack of skittles. "Thank you mister. I fuck candy. Good."

Soon enough the LT returned to his Victor, and got on the comms.

"Attention all Victors, this is Pee Wee Actual, we have intel reporting Taliban activity, possibly up to a dozen foot mobiles about six clicks northwest of our position. We are to proceed along set vector, and do a dismounted search of a riverbed in the area where said Taliban might have set up camp. Once we arrive at location, I want Pee Wee two two, two three, as well as two four and two five to dismount and conduct a perimeter search of zone, two one , you pull security for convoy. ETA is twenty mikes, Pee Wee Actual out."

The RTO in Freddies victor got on the comms, asking, "Pee Wee Actual, this is Pee WEE two one. Interrogative: do you want us to continue to the suspected area on point? Over."

"Roger that two one," replied the LT, "Proceed in current formation until we get to the suspected area, I'll let you know when to stop. Pee Wee actual out."

It amused Freddie to no end that the radio code names for his platoons victors were that of the infamous Pee Wee Babies, which had so engrossed Carly's bad boy beau, Griffen, that he had gone to UCLA just for a business degree in hopes working for the purveyors of fine plush collectables. Freddie also found it ironic how now, himself and Gibby, who growing had never been regarded as being particularly tough or intimidating now were riding out to deal death, armed to the teeth like the Heavy Metal Avengers that they were, while back home Carly's leather clad boyfriend sat at home playing with fluffy Peter Penguin.

The victors got rolling, the heavy engines on the MRAPs sounding like angry bulls, the gears squeaking as the victors got into gear and rolled out. From the turret, Fredward waved to some of the kids, disappointed at only getting skittles off of the soldiers, sheepishly returned the soldiers waves, though mostly they gave the bird or indicated "up yours," as they had learned from the G.I.s. Freddie laughed to himself over the cultural exchange which he had witnessed, a world superpower, coming into the third world to spread universal suffrage, modern technology, basic human rights, and profanity to children. Hopefully, the good stuff would stick, and outweigh the more unsavory bits of American culture that they were transmitting to the Afghan children.

Once they got to the suspected area where the Taliban where staking out, the Victors came to a stop at the edge of an old rice paddy. On the far side of the paddy, there was a small thicket of small trees and scrub, along the remnants of an old river, now mostly dry but to a small trickle. The environment reminded him somewhat of Fort Lewis Washington, where he had done some armor training before shipping out to A-stan. Dry and scrubby. No wonder that Carly never had wanted to move to Yakima when she was solicited by Grandpa Shay so many years earlier. God, thought Freddie, that was five years earlier, they had just begun iCarly, and they were still in the Eighth grade, little more than kids. He had a crush the size of Mt. Ranier on Carly then, and having not known Sam for very long, thought her only to be an antagonistic tomboy, who happened to have a slightly sexy way about her, and killer legs.

Fuck, thought Freddie, the feeling of anguish that he got every time he thought of Sam coming over him, I can't let myself slip like that, I've gotta stay in the zone. I'm on a fucking mission. Stay frosty, stay frosty.

They had soon enough reached the area where the Taliban were suspected to be lurking, however whether or not they were there was up for grabs. Freddie hoped they were. His trigger fingers were itchy.

From some of the MRAPs behind Freddie's victor, troopers dismounted, only turret gunners like himself remaining inside, scanning their sectors watching for any suspicious action, on which they would open a seam into hell with their guns if commanded. The feeling of opening up with a fifty, or even with the smaller M240B, was something to write home about, thought Freddie, felt like jerking off a gigantic, death dealing cock made of steel, that jizzed hot lead, pouring out fire like the maw of a dragon.

The squads advanced slowly across the rice paddy towards the thicket, their radio chatter becoming fainter as they advanced away from the MRAPs. The birds were chirping merrily in the thicket for several minutes, but suddenly, they stopped. Freddy had learned from some of the veterans that that was not a good sign, it could mean enemy activity. A few moments passed. One of the advancing soldiers tripped. Freddy watched him fall, and tried not to laugh, though inwardly he was tense, knowing that at any moment , shit could hit the fan. The soldier picked himself up, then turned back to observe what it was that had made him fall. A look of pure unadulterated fear then spread across his face, one that Freddy could see even from the distance of nearly 100 yards. He had tripped on a wire, and projecting out from where the soldier was holding the wire, it looked like it might terminate somewhere underneath….

"IED IED IED!" yelled the soldier. Freddie and all of the soldiers in his victor assumed the best self protective position that they could in mere seconds.

BOOM! From underneath his victor, a huge explosion sounded, then similarly from underneath several of the victors behind them. In the deafening blast, which seemed to last for an eternity, Freddie felt his body being thrown from out of the turret, where he was not secured, and in the surreal moments that passed as he flew through the air, he could see that the MRAP, even though designed to withstand IEDs to an extent, had its entire undercarriage wrent and torn, wheels flying high into the air. In moments it was over, and Freddie, some twenty feet from his victor, lay on the ground, dazed. His back felt strangely twisted, and when he came to enough to sit up, he heard it make an unpleasant crack. The pain radiated throughout his spine and into his left shoulder, where he had taken most of his fall. He found it almost impossible to hold up his weapon with that hand, it only increased the pain, and soon he realized that standing would be easier said than done as well, as a piece of shrapnel, which had come from god knows where had lodged itself into his boot top, and had entered his shin. Not a bad wound, but not conducive to standing either.

Then, Freddie heard a sound that he dreaded even more than an IED, the ominous crack that indicated a round whizzing past his head, immediately, his training kicked in, and he hit the deck, taking his weapon and supporting it gingerly on his injured arm, commencing to low crawl towards his smoking victor. Ahead of him, he could see that the men in the rice paddy were taking heavy fire, and already some of them, though they were plastered to the ground, had been hit.

The MRAPs commenced to opening up with the turret guns, at least those that were still operable, firing from wherever in the thicket they could guess that they were taking contact from.

Finally Freddie managed to crawl to the smoking hulk of his MRAP, and after cautiously standing up, he opened the door to his victor which was now listing to the left dangerously since its undercarriage was blown away. Taking a look inside and thanking his lucky stars, he established that no one was hurt tremendously. Had their victor been a Humvee, everyone would have been dead, and as it stood, Freddy who was inherently vulnerable in the turret was lucky to be alive.

"Everyone Ok in here?" Freddie asked of his squad-mates.

"Yea dude, just a little shaken up, sarge has a concussion though I think, motherfucker is taking crazy. He hit his head pretty hard in the blast," Replied Hurst.

"Ok," Freddie replied, "Try and keep him awake, and get him stabilized, I'm gonna go check on the other victors to make sure that no one else was seriously wounded. "

Freddie ran from victor to victor, finding most of them to be in pretty bad shape. There must have been a huge cluster of IEDs right where they were parked, and they had just rolled right into a trap, literally. Now, they couldn't drive off, except for one vehicle which hadn't been directly hit. The main priority was to give enough covering fire so that the squads who were pinned down in the field could return to the cover of the victors until they could exfil the area.

Freddie knew he had to do something, and fast, because already he could see that the men on the paddy had taken a lot of casualties, there must have been a sniper in the woods that was inflicting such a bad licking to those men.

Suddenly, Freddie heard the big Mk 19 grenade launcher go silent from the victor that was still operable, the gunner had gone down, which Freddie could see, the man slumping in the turret, blood spurting out of a wound in his neck. Shit! He thought, instinctively running to aid the man. He knocked on the side of the victor once he reached it, and Gibby who was driver for the victor opened the door, "What's up Freddie?" he asked, his casual phrasing rather incongruous with the situation.

"Gib, here's what we're gonna do, those guys in the field are trapped out there, we've gotta go get em."

"Go get 'em? Whaddaya mean Freddie?" Gibby quizzed.

"I mean we're gonna drive this fuckin' MRAP out there, I'll take the turret, since the Mk 19 has got all that firepower, that should keep the Hajjis heads down long enough for us to cram those dudes into the back of the MRAP then drive back to where we are now. Here, as long as we stay in the MRAPs, we're cool , cause the Hajji's rounds won't pierce our armor. Also, while we do this, we need to call in for air support, or arty or some shit, cause I don't know if the 19 alone is gonna keep 'em down. But we gotta at least do something, and now!"

"Ok, OK," Gibby replied, "Gibby Gone! Mount up Freddo!"

Freddie jumped into the MRAP, where in the back the two soldiers futilely tried to mend the shot gunner of the Mk19. The sight was grizzly, the bullet had entered his neck, but had exited the back of his skull, and hit his helmet, causing the bullet to only reenter his head and scramble the soldier's brains. This didn't phase Freddie though, without a thought, he entered the turret, pulled back the charging handle on the grenade launcher, then opened up hell on the point of contact. The grenades landed in great explosions in the thicket, just as Gibby gunned the MRAP and careened over the rice paddy towards the pinned down squads. Opening his door, he yelled to the men, "Get in, get in" over the thundering of Freddie at the Mk19 above. Men started piling the dead, wounded and the unscathed into the victor's back door, Gibby putting it in park, then lumbering onto the field to assist in carrying some of the wounded men. Suddenly, Freddie saw GIbby's body spasm and convulse, as if it had just been shocked by electricity, then proceed to fall to the ground. He had been shot, an armor piercing round had lodged itself in through a weak point in his IOTV and had hit his spine, cutting off any signal from the poor kids brain. Gibby was dead.

"GIBBY!" Freddie cried out in anguish, himself only feeling more rage at the sight of seeing an old friend cut down. Almost without thought, he leapt from the turret and off of his victor colliding with the ground collapsing in a heap, to frazzled by adrenaline to land on his feet. Freddie ignored the incoming fire, he couldn't cares less at this point if a bullet killed him, swiftly, drawn out, he didn't care. He just had to get Gibby's body safely inside that MRAP before he went, or he'd die trying. Going over to his friends sprawled body, he found it frozen in death on the ground at awkward angles, his legs tucked under him, but his arms out to his sides like Jesus on the cross. Fueled by his rage, and feeling miles away from his body Freddie picked Gibby up with ease, carrying him over his shoulder to the back of the MRAP, bullets striking Gibby's body en route, barely missing Freddie. Gingerly depositing his friend in the back hatch of the MRAP, Freddie reclaimed his place in the turret, letting the gravity of what had just happened boil over, expressing itself through the fury of the automatic grenade launcher.

Each thunderous blast of the 19 seemed like a clap of thunder frozen in time, each shell that was ejected making a melodious clang as it hit the top of the MRAP.

Then, Freddie felt it, out of nowhere, but an intense pain in his forearm, then a pressure in his chest, as if he had just been hit in the chest with a hammer. Blood spurted from his arm, indicating that he had been hit. He could feel even less from that arm than before though, thankfully, the IOTV seemed to have stopped the round from going any further. Freddie, though momentarily dazed, kept up his intense firing on the thicket, screaming like a mad man until at last he ran out of rounds. Slumping back into the turret, he caught his breath, and observed that the last of the wounded had been loaded like sardines into the MRAP.

"We have any more Mk19 rounds?" he called into the victor.

"I don't know man, just get us out of here!" someone from inside cried up.

"Fuck thisss!" Freddie cursed to himself, as he left the turret, and got into the driver's seat of the MRAP, thrusting in into reverse, and flooring it, until they were back to the relative safety of the rest of the convoy, who was maintaining suppressive fire on the thicket. Freddie noticed that the seat was still warm from Gibby. God, he couldn't believe that he was gone, forever. No time though to think about that now though he thought, someone needed to fuckin' call in a medevac bird or at least air support.

Just as that thought passed through Freddie's mind, he heard the cacophonous thudding of Kiowa gunship rotors nearing. Looking to the west, the bird closing in, someone was crying "DANGER CLOSE! DANGER CLOSE!" on the comms. The Kiowa then opened up on the thicket with a cocktail of rockets and a hail of smothering minigun fire, which spewed a blizzard of spent 7.62 mm shells down on and in through the open turrets of the MRAPS. Within only seconds, the roar of the guns and rockets was over, the clearing reduced to a charred, smoking inferno, entirely hostile to life, and thankfully that didn't preclude Taliban. The bird veered off back to base for resupply, leaving the men to cheer maniacally, they were at last, somewhat safe, a sentiment only reinforced by the sound of incoming Medivac birds, three blackhawks touching down behind the MRAPs, a flurry of crew chiefs and medics rushing out to triage and load up the wounded.

Eventually, it was decided that all who were wounded, which was a considerable amount, would ride back in the Medivac birds and the remaining few who weren't severly injured would ride back in the operable MRAP, the charred hulks of those that had been hit by IEDs were left until they could be salvaged.

Freddie hadn't even noticed his wound, or at least he had forgotten about it since it had occurred, and at the vehement insistence of his LT and a medic, he caught a ride back to the FOB in one of the Medivac birds. He had wanted to ride back with his fellow soldiers, but realized he was glad to ride in the bird after all. He could say goodbye to Gibby. Never could he have imagined that he, Fredward Benson would have never thought that he would see the day where he would be the man to close the dead, blankly staring eyes of his old, goofy friend, Charles Cornelius Gibson.


	6. Chapter 6 The News

Chapter 6: The News

Spencer was working on a sculpture of an elephant, made out of fat-cakes and duct tape, flitting around the incomplete sculpture, surveying it from every angle, trying to evaluate where he should place the next fat cake for the perfect pachyderm form. Sam, her blonde hair in luxurious curls spilling down her back came out of the kitchen, a piece of fried chicken in hand, snagging a fat cake off of Spencer's sculpture before she plopped herself lengthwise on the couch.

"Hey!" Spencer balked, "That was part of the femur of my elephant!"

"So?" Sam quipped back in her usual lacadaisical monotone, "It's not like he's gonna bleed to death."

"Whatever," replied Spencer, realizing the futility of arguing with the lanky blonde, who was a black hole for any kind of vittles. "So, what exactly _are_ you doing here Puckster? Not that I mind the company, anything to remind me of the old days with Carly here are nice, but…don't you have that boyfriend who needs tending too, or something better to do?"

"Eh, no, not really. He's out of town for the week, plus we've had a little too much of each other lately, so I don't mind a break. Really, I'm just here, cause, well I miss the old days too. I wish Carls was here…and…even Fredwad."

What she felt in her heart though was more than her words belied, she truly missed that lovable dork, she hadn't meant to break his heart, she just couldn't keep waiting for him, when waiting for him always, away in Chicago made her life miserable, a man on the side, a man who wanted her, even if only for the sex, made it easier to cope with the fact that the only person besides Carly and Spencer who she had actually ever loved was away at school, with other girls, at other parties, living a life that she wasn't a part of. Maybe dating Chris was just another way that she antagonized him, a way to get his attention, just like when she used to punch him. Now though, she really had hurt the boy, he had taken it hard, and run away. Half a world away, and into danger. She felt guilty beyond belief, but she knew it wasn't all her fault, he was the one who went off his rocker. Even so, the agony of envisioning him returning in a flag draped casket was more than she could bear. It would be her fault in the end, he would be the victim of war because she in her need for instant gratification, her attention seeking behavior, and it would be Freddie, her scorned love, who would pay the price.

Her heart hurt, and she didn't want to talk to Spencer about it, he didn't know about the her and Freddie, and she wanted to keep it that way. Fishing for the clicker underneath the cushions, Sam turned on the boob tube. Finishing the chicken and biting into the sumptuously spongy fat cake, Sam flipped through channels, that stupid cow show, a cuttlefish playing live on the Seattle Buzz.

"Hey turn that up, would you?" Spencer asked.

Sam obliged, but soon the performance was over, and it was followed by the latest news. Economy sucked. Oil still found in gulf. Afghanistan update.

A pretty brunette news anchor spoke, while footage of helicopters flitting around and soldiers running in a frenzied manner about some outpost in the desert played on the screen.

"Yesterday, members of the 5-73rd cavalry of the 82nd Airborne division sustained heavy casualties during a surprise attack by Taliban forces in eastern Afghanistan. After a large coordinated IED, or improvised explosive device detonation, several members of the platoon were trapped by fire, until they were rescued by the quick thinking of some of their comrades. "

On the TV, the platoons Lieutenant appeared, speaking before reporters, his combat shirt covered in sweat and dirt, obvious blood stains marring the fabric. A caption reading the name of Lt. Isiah Danvers appeared.

"We uh, took contact from a number of directions from several dozen Taliban fires after a massive series of IED blasts that incapacitated most of the vehicles in our platoon. The squad on patrol was pinned down, and we were all taking heavy fire, AKs, RPGs, Dragonovs. There was a sniper that was hitting guys like crazy. It wasn't until two of my men, I won't say their names here, but they basically saved our hides out there. They laid down suppressive fire, and loaded up our wounded until we could exfil, and finally we had air support take out the Taliban positions."

The image returned to the anchor, "Official reports place casualties at least fifteen men, with seven killed in action. This was the worst single loss of US troops since the turning point of the war in the taking of Kandahar City in 2010."

Sam's nerves were in a knot, all she could think about was the worst case, what if Freddie was one of those dead ones. Freddie hadn't written home at all, she supposed he didn't want to be reminded of the pain there, but she did know that he was in the cavalry. The worry was gnawing at her insides, like acid, a feeling of dread creeping from her toes to the top of her head. If Freddie was dead, or even hurt, living might be too painful for her to have on her conscience, that her stupidity, her selfishness had sent him colliding towards a crash and burn future.

Spencer obviously had similar thoughts, because he just stood there, resting on his fat cake elephant, looking pensively at the television.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

Sam was frozen, she didn't want to get up to get the door, she knew in her heart that it wasn't going to be anything good, whatever was on the other side of the door. She was like a deer in headlights, not a muscle moved in her body, even holding her breath for fear that if she released tension the sky might just fall down upon her. Spencer cautiously approached the door, his gut told him he didn't want to open it, but he had no choice. Walking over to the door, he glanced through the peep hole, confirming his suspicions. Sighing resignedly, he opened the door, for two men in uniform, a chaplain and another officer.

"Can I help you?" Spencer asked.

"Possibly," replied the officer, "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Joshua Sanders, and this is Major Barksdale," he said, indicating the chaplain, "and we were trying to get in touch with the mother of Private Fredward Benson, it appears as though she's not at home."

It was worse than Sam had ever thought it could be, every instant of every second of each infinity that she had spent with Freddie, from the sixth grade until the day he shipped for basic flew through her mind in an instant. Each ribbing, every joke, or knowing glance they had shared. The good times, the bad, the time when he had pulled her in from the window after she and Carly had been fighting on the window washing platform, the time that they had first kissed, how embarrassed she was when it was spoken of. The first time he was ever inside of her. When he told her he loved her, and she truly believed every syllable of it, watching his lips say the words like it were gospel. Could the man that had made all those memories happen for her forever be consigned to her past? No. No….NO…..she screamed inwardly…..

"NOOOOO!" Sam cried flinging her half eaten fat cake against the wall, "Not Freddie! No, no, no!" she collapsed off of the couch, fitfully flinging her body around, screaming and tugging at her hair. Spencer, his jaw dropped in disbelief at what he was comprehending, roused himself to go and pick the distraught Sam up off of the floor, restraining her from hurting herself, smoothing her hair and cooing in her ear.

"Are you all friends with Private Benson?" asked the Chaplain.

"Yes," Spencer said quietly.

"Well, we're not at liberty to give out much information, but if it is any consolation, he is alive…."

Sam immediately stopped twitching, and leapt up, and strode over into the face of the chaplain.

"Where the fuck is he! He's not dead? I need to see him, where is Freddie!" she seized the chaplain by the lapels of his uniform going toe to toe, spittle flying out of her mouth as she incoherently demanded answers. Spencer pulled her off, kicking and screaming.

"Where is he! Let us see him!" they both decried, Sam albeit more acerbically.

"We are not at libert-" blurted the Colonel, but Sam cut him off.

"I'm gonna be at liberty to insert my whole foot up your fucking ass if you don't tell me where I can find Fredwad! Now! I, I love, I-I love that…." She trailed off, setting her jaw sternly, tears welling up in her eyes.

The Colonel sighed, exchanging a knowing glance with the chaplain, who nodded.

"Fine, but you have to contact Mrs. Benson at once, and let her know we are here, and need to speak with her. "

"Sure, I'll call her now," said Spencer, pulling his pear phone out of his paint stained pocket.

"Now, where the fuck is he!" Sam demanded again.

"He's currently en route from Germany to Walter Reed Army hospital, in Washington DC., where he'll be in recovery. "

"SPENCER, YOU GETTING THIS? DC NOW!" Sam cried

"Shhhh," he hushed, "I'm on the phone with Marissa. Uh Hi, uh Marissa, this is Spencer. There are some gentleman who'd like, to, no no, everythings ok, yes. Now, ok. See you then bye." He hung up his pear phone, announcing that Ms. Benson was on her way.

"Excellent. Well, if you'll remain here until Ms. Benson arrives, the Army will arrange transport for all of you to visit Private Benson-"

"His name is Freddie!" interrupted Sam.

"…Freddie," the Colonel continued, "during his recovery."

It was too much. Sam just couldn't hold back the tears, her heart torn because of what torture Freddie must have gone through, mixed with pure elation, that at least the nub that she loved more than anyone was still breathing, and might be able to kiss her once again.

It was all too much, and soon the tears took over, Sam collapsing in a heap, only kept from hitting her head on the ground by Spencer's quick reflexes. Darkness.


	7. Chapter 7 Walter Reed

Chapter 7: Walter Reed

The flight couldn't have lasted any longer, and to Sam it felt as though it dragged on for days, though it was only a few hours by military craft. It reminded her of the cargo plane that she had taken with the iCarly gang when they had gone to perform the show in Japan, years ago. She would gladly have taken that ride again though 1000 times over, with the possums, and the parachuting over having to deal with the inner hatred and guilt , it was her that drove Freddie to the brink of madness, then into the very face of death. She wouldn't lie any more, she loved him more than she could say, and even though she didn't think she could just break up with Chris and get with Freddie, that would be deadly for her, since Freddie would know that she had only come to this realization out of guilt, and Chris would label her a whore, the path ahead of her was undecided. However, she knew now that she would never leave Freddie again, unless he told her to go, and even then he'd have to beat her off, she had betrayed her own true feelings, and him, and would be by his side until he was better, and then as long as she could. Death do us part.

Spencer had called Carly and Griffen, who were headed over from Los Angeles, while he, Sam, and Ms. Benson had taken a military transport to DC to visit Freddie. Upon hearing the news, Lewbert had even extended his condolences, though he did so with copious whining, his nasty mole quivering as he pushed through the repulsive task of making himself say something nice. They arrived at JFK, and were taken by government vehicles to the hospital, where Freddie was currently undergoing surgery, so they were informed.

"I must see him now! Are you sure they're keeping him clean?" squealed Ms. Benson, at her wits end, her worst fears nearly realized, her precious baby boy having come to harm.

"Yes ma'am, he's being worked on by professionals, and he should be out of surgery in a couple of hours. Don't worry," Replied one of the military doctors, trying to console the rabidly protective mother.

Within a few hours, Freddie was out of surgery, and waking up, and once he had come-to, Ms. Benson practically busted down the door to get in to see her son, and the wailing and tears on her end, mixed with scolding were heard throughout the hospital, to Freddie's dismay.

Sam's stomach was turning, now her fears had taken another angle, what if Freddie didn't want to see her? She being someone who, he both loved, and yet felt intense hurt because of…she couldn't bear to think of what she might do to herself if he rejected to her. Life wouldn't be worth living. No amount of Bolivian bacon was equal to his love. Why was I so stupid! She kept asking herself, her guilty conscience like the Spanish inquisition, turning her over a spit, questions and insecurities kept flitting through her mind, like great blood sucking mosquitoes. The insecurity was unbearable, and sucking her dry of her energy and will. She needed help- someone to talk to. Melanie? Carly? She would be so embarrassed. Maybe it was time to stop hiding it though, the secret relationship, to come clean might make things easier to bear, and at least then someone could give her some clear guidance. She knew she could always trust Carls to be her friend, she didn't know if she could take the ignominy of admitting that she had loved and lost? There was only one way to find out.


	8. Chapter 8 Consciences

Chapter 8: Consciences

Freddie hadn't even realized it, but while on the medivac bird back to the FOB, he had passed out, the combination of intense shock and bloodloss affecting him.

His next memory was a mere mirage, being rushed around by men in uniform, one holding papers, telling him in a stern voice that they would need his consent to remove his mangled arm. No, Freddie thought, no one is taking my arm, those fingers will touch the hair of Sam again, so help me God. His reply to the doctor was to the point.

"Go fuck yourself," he said groggily, then passed out.

Without Freddie's consent, and given the extent of his injuries, it was decided that he would be shipped back to the states for more advanced reconstruction surgeries, then, rehabilitation.

Finally, Freddie woke up, finding himself in the sterile surroundings of a hospital bed, his heart monitor beeping steadily next to him, a saline line tracing up his arm and into his hand. His head hurt, he was famished, and his left hand and arm were bandaged heavily, though from the lack of feeling that he had in it, it might as well have not been there. That AK round must have fucked his arm up more than he thought. Freddie was heartily disappointed, his left was his preferred hand for his personal activities, the number one past time of a bored soldier, dick skinning, and it would take some getting used to, to acclimate to using his right. At least he had a good hand though. Gibby didn't have hands, didn't have a tongue, didn't have a heart. Gibby wasn't alive, but was instead on a cooling board somewhere, his body being washed and pumped up with liquids so the pallor of death wouldn't be so horrifying to those that loved the boy when they went to lay eyes on him, one last time before putting him six feet under. His poor mother. Poor Guppy, the kid adored his older brother. Poor Tasha, who as Gibby informed him, was now carrying his seed inside her, the next generation already beginning to take shape. Another child robbed of the chance to know his father because of war.

Freddie couldn't take it, he wanted his old life back, he wanted to be seventeen again, doing iCarly, under the weight of his mothers world, protected. Surrounded by friends. With Sam Puckett in his arms.

Freddie flung the sheets off of himself with his good hand, then with his mouth pulled out his IV, disregarding the pain and the little trickle of blood that spurted straight from his vein. After ripping the monitors from his chest and forehead, Freddie gingerly moved his legs over the side of his gurney, and onto the icy hospital floor. Of course, his monitor, now deprived of signal, began to go wild, sirening to nurses that either the patient had bought the farm or had somehow taken off their monitors. Not wanting to hear the annoying wailing, and still caught up in his guilty rage, the rage of the survivor, he kicked the monitor to the ground, causing it to shatter and sputter out as it hit the floor. Freddie finally got to his feet, and began to limp towards the door. Just as he was about to reach it though, it flung open, two nurses and a doctor instantly fussing over him.

"Private Benson, Private! Return to bed! You need to heal!" they cawed.

"F-fuck you all. I need to talk to Gibby. I need to tell him I'm sorry. S-Sam, wh-where is she?" he croaked out, his throat parched, and his voice cracking from hours of disuse.

Suddenly, he felt a prick in his arm, one of the nurses had snuck up behind him with a needle and had sedated him. Freddie welcomed the haze that swiftly descended over him though, quite dreamless sleep where he would be free of the sound of bullets cracking the air, the cathartic sound of the Mk19. The image of Gibby's cooling flesh, lips slightly parted, a look of surprise on his face, as if death were just an unexpected prank that God had pulled on him.

Darkness.

Sam and Carly sat outside on a bench by the hospital, Carly smoking a clove, something she had picked up with her new friends in LA, spending long afternoons at Venice Beach. Sam had asked her to come talk to her in private, and Carly wasn't entirely sure about what it was that she needed to get off of her chest, but she was sure that it probably had something to do with the reason they were there. Freddie.

"So," Carly asked tentatively, "Are you just going to sit there and stare blankly, or are you going to talk to me?"

Sam didn't want to talk about feelings. Especially ones like these, sticky, hairy ones. Ones that might show that she was much more of a vulnerable soul than she outwardly projected. Carly knew that though, so all in all, there was nothing for her to lose.

"Give me one of those things, " Sam said gruffly, indicating Carly's pack of Djarums.

"Smoking is bad you kno-"

"Yea I know it Carls, you fucking hypocrite, just give me one," Sam demanded.

"Fine." Carly replied tersely, "they're all yours. Since when did you start smoking anyway?" she asked.

" Since now," replied the blonde, "Though I could ask you the same question.

"Well, its just that everyone in LA does it, especially at the film school, and Griffen, and-"

"I had sex with Freddie. We had been sleeping together ever since Gibby's party, and I'm still in love with that boy," Sam said suddenly as she lit up, the cloves making a little crackle as they incinerated.

Carly was speechless. Her lips parted, dumbfounded. She had expected something surprising, but not something that would rock her paradigm as much as finding out that her two best friends in the whole world were hopelessly lost in each other.

"But, what about Chris…" Carly offered, "I thought you two were doing really well?"

"We have been," Sam replied sullenly, "But, I don't love him like I do Freddie. Chris, he was just a placeholder, and sure this is the first time I've ever admitted it, but I needed someone that I could hold because I'm a selfish bitch, when all I wanted was Freddie to come home to me, but he was in Chicago….The I guess that just broke his heart…." Sam trailed off, the impending tears choking her up to much to clearly enunciate.

"And then he did just the opposite of what you wanted," Carly observed, "You wanted him to come home to you, and instead he ran the other way, half a world away to be precise. I can see why you feel that way Sam."

The emotion was too much for Sam, no longer could she hold her composure, nor did she even want to. She would gladly have cried a river, floated down it to the Potomac, then into the Chesapeake, to forever be lost at sea, drowning in her own sorrows. Carly held her close as she cried, pulling her to her chest, letting her best friends tears soak her blouse. Sam stayed like that for a while, Carly feeling her own tears trickle down onto her cheek. She rocked her friend gently, whispering that everything would be alright. Carly wasn't sure if it really all would be, but for everyone's sake, especially for that of her two best friends, that it would.

Sam eventually was able to cry out the brunt of her emotion, lifting up her flushed and tear stained face to meet eyes with Carly. She looked hurt and ashamed, the little sad girl that was Sam Puckett, an unstable child hood, losing her lover to distance, all coming out.

"Look Sam," Carly said evenly, trying to maintain what composure she could endure for her friend. "You need to find out what you want the most in life, who do you want to be, where do you want to go, how do you see yourself. You're listless. Most importantly though, right now, you need to figure out-and it seems like you in your heart of hearts knows the answer-who do you want to go on that journey with. I'm not a genius, but if I know anything, I'd say that that person is passed out in a hospital bed somewhere in that building, most likely dreaming of you. Now, what the FUCK is stopping you from doing everything in your power to be with that man, when you can, while you are still young and time is on your side. Come on, baby, get your head on straight! What is stopping you?"

Sam wiped her eyes on her sleeve, snorting back the tear induced mucus, trying to collect her voice, so she could admit why she had been a coward.

"Honestly, I just didn't know how to tell Chris that I didn't actually love him, that I just needed him I guess. He did everything I wanted, but in the end, that wasn't what would actually make me happy. I was a jerk, led him on, because I was heartbroken. Dammit, Freddie why did you have to pick a real life!"

Carly smirked, the iceberg Puckett was melting, five points off the starboard bow.

"I, I thought that he was leaving me, choosing college over me, when he said he loved me! That fucking asshole! I loved him with my whole heart, and he went where, to Chicago? So I poked back, I cheated even when I told him I'd wait. Then, he goes to AFGHANISTAN? As if that would make things better. Then I knew I couldn't break up with Chris, what would the point be….I just wanted to be loved…but love kept on running away."

From behind them, they heard a voice that made them both jump.

"I think I can tell you why my son "ran away" in the first place," said Mrs. Benson softly.

Sam was mortified, how much did that psychotic bitch hear?

"Mrs. Benson, I, I was just explaining to Carly, why-" Sam tried to blurt out, but was interrupted.

" No need to tell me. I think Freddie's words speak for themselves," Mrs. Benson said cryptically.

"What, I don't understand?" asked Sam, heartily confused.

"One of his friends found this on Freddie's person as he was being medivaced to Germany, and they made sure that we got it, just in case something bad happened to Freddie. It's his death letter," Mrs. Benson said, emotion starting to encroach on her voice as she pulled out the sand covered blood stained letter from her purse.

"He's ok?" Sam asked, still confused, hoping this didn't mean the worst.

"He's fine," Mrs. Benson replied, "In fact I just talked to him, and all he kept asking for was you Sam. He doesn't know that I read his death letter, I was only given it because he was in critical condition earlier. Once he turned out alright though, I thought maybe you would like to read this….It explains a lot."

"I don't know if I…" Sam began nervously.

"Go ahead dear," Mrs. Benson said, uncharacteristically tender, "Carly, maybe we should give Sam a moment, " she said to the other woman.

"Good idea Ms. Benson, " said Carly, getting up to leave, but first giving Sam a comforting squeeze on the shoulders. "It's going to be alright, Sam. I told you it would. Just do what you have to do."

Sam smiled, watching Carly and Mrs. Benson go. Turning back to the letter, she gingerly opened it, noticing that it was addressed simply to "Sam." Wow, Mrs. Benson was quite the busy body to take a death letter not addressed to her and read it. Some things never change though, she thought wryly. She began to read.

My Dearest Sam,

If you are reading this, I am dead. Do not miss me, because I swear to you, not even death would keep my soul from being next to yours. Of course, you will ask, why then did you run away? Why couldn't you be with me when we needed each other the most, when our love was new and the dawning of a new world was ripe for both of our pickings?

Firstly, I went to Afghanistan because I was afraid. I was afraid that maybe it wasn't me that made you the happiest, and if that is so, then I wish you bliss with whoever makes you that way. However, when you were with Chris, I was simply too afraid to go back to Seattle and find out if that was the truth….So I got away as far as I could find to be away, where I could wallow in sorrow and take out my anger on others. Yea, Sam, I hated you because you had hurt me, but perhaps that hatred was nothing compared to the hurt I inflicted upon you when I first left your side, where I belonged. Now, all I feel is regret that I didn't do what I could to stay by your side, but know this: I always will love you. You are half of me, and by God, the best half of me.

Secondly, I will tell you why I went away to college in the first place. Sure, I went because I wanted to be a Sociologist. In my high mindedness I thought I could change the world. However, I was wrong, I couldn't do shit without you, and I soon realized that. Then, it occurred to me, why should I stay in school, when I'd much rather just go to a school in Seattle with you? Well, I wanted to get a good job, and a great degree so I could provide for us Sam Puckett. Yea, I said Us. Sam, I want to let you know that I want to marry you. I want to marry you, and love you until I am no longer breathing, and then in the next world I'll find you and keep on loving you. So I left so I could support us, one day when I was out of college, and we could be together. It was my inner Benson instincts trying to be responsible. Yet when you went out with Chris, I just supposed that maybe what was between us wasn't to you what it was to me. I ardently hope that I was just a terrible judge of character. God I love you Sam.

Anyway, I should wrap this up with some good byes. To Carly, you were like a sister to me, the best friend I could have asked for, creative partner, I loved iCarly, I relished our friendship, and I will miss you more than I can describe. To Mom, I'm sorry that I did this to you, but I needed it. I was trying to numb myself, and I guess you can say that I wanted to die. Don't blame anyone but me though, and PROMISE ME THAT! This was all my choice, I was the one who reacted, was a coward, whatever you wish to call me, but know this was all my choice, and that I accept full culpability for whatever the ramifications of my choice may be. I love you mom, you made me into the best man that I could be, and I was truly lucky to have someone who cared about me as much as you did. I'll miss you. Spencer, Christ, take good Care of those two girls, you know how crazy they are. You were to me a best friend, a confidant, and a teacher of many of the things I needed to know to become a good man in society. I hope that I have done well. I'm the Ogee Wan to your Nug Nug if this were galaxy wars, your humble apprentice. Gibby! You crazy motherfucker! It has been an honor to know such a fine and brave soldier, and I have had neither a truer friend nor a more capable brother in arms. I can't tell you how glad I was to see your familiar face when we first got to the FOB, when it seemed that all my past was to be marred with my own sadness, there you were, a beacon of hope. Get Some brother. To all the other people, fellow soldiers, leaders, teacher, family, friends…too many to name here…I must say that in my death, it is truly I who am missing out by being deprived of your company, and I pray that you will not weep for my passing, for I am master of my own destiny, and accept what things may come.

I will come to you Sam Puckett, and I will come running. I love you, and I love you all.

Private Fredward Allen Benson, United States Army September 15, 2013

Sam couldn't believe what she had just read. No Freddie, she thought, I love you, and it is I who will come running. Tucking the death letter into her back pocket, she gave thanks like she had never before that Freddie was still alive, and ran inside. She had to see him. But first, she had one last loose end that needed tying up. She wasn't going to care what people thought of her anymore, she just knew she needed to be with Freddie, whatever the cost. She pulled out her PearPhone and scrolled through her contacts. The phone rang twice before it was picked up.

"Hello," said a deep voice on the other line.

"Hey Chris, It's Sam. We need to talk."


	9. Chapter 9 Petraeus and Puckett

Chapter 9: Petraeus and Puckett

Sam hung up her pear phone, breathing a sigh of relief. Chris hadn't taken her unexpected news, that she didn't want to see him anymore, that things between the two of them just weren't going to work out anymore very well.

"Why? What the hell did I ever do Sam, to lose you? I-I've taken you on those really fancy weekends at my parents boathouse in Vancouver, I got you Cuttlefish tickets…Goddammit, I took off work, and you KNOW how my boss is just because It was your birthday…Christ, I put up with your fucking mother! Just give me one good reason Sam, and if I'm not good enough, let me know. I can accept that, but I need a reason, or else I can't let this go!"

God she hated when Chris did this to her, laying guilt trips. When Chris got angry, he acted like an old Catholic grandmother. Sure, he had been a very good boyfriend, but he was never really in her heart. A placeholder, and a damn fine one, but she could see that there was little more beyond that.

"Look, Chris," Sam began slowly, "I'm sorry if this hurts you, I really am, but…." She trailed off, trying to find a sensitive way to put what she needed to say. Sam Puckett trying to be sensitive…how novel, she thought. Was the nub really worth her time when the man she wanted was waiting for her inside?

"But what, Samantha?" spat Chris over the line, his voice showing his frustration and dismay.

That did it though, calling her Samantha in that patronizing tone. She had told that fuck on the first date, she was on a strictly Sam basis. Only her mother called her Samantha when she was on one of her drunkenly fueled emotional assaults toward her daughter.

"Don't. Call. Me. That." Sam said slowly, the anger building in her voice. She needed to get her fucking name legally changed or something.

"Shit…."she heard Chris breathe to himself on the other line, recognizing the hell hound he had just unleashed on himself.

"YOU KNOW WHAT MOTHERFUCKER!" Sam began, her frustration, at herself for being such a child, at Chris at his obstinance, at Freddie for leaving, though that anger was almost entirely dissipated after the letter. "I'LL BE HONEST WITH YOU." Her voice shook, she consciously tried to calm herself. Breathe Puckett. Breathe. " I wanted to let you down easily, but the honest to God truth is that I never loved you. Yea, I'll say it, and I'll say it again. I didn't. I was a stupid childish bitch and used you because I was lonely…and it looks like we both turned out to be the loser because I almost, and may still lose the one person I think I was ever capable of loving because of this relationship, and I fucked up with you, because I've hurt another person, one of so many in this world. So I am sorry, but I can't hold on to something that never was."

Her explanation went by in a whirlwind, the feeling of letting off the pressure that was holding on to the illusion of the relationship that was between them felt so good. It felt like maybe she was becoming the old Sam, the happy Sam, before any chizz went down, before Freddie went away. Maybe she was back on that track again.

"Question," Chris asked with reserve on the other line, " Is it that Benson guy?"

Of course, none of his fucking business Sam thought, but it was just like Chris to ask. Maybe he did have a right to know. It didn't matter anyway.

"Yea…" she replied softly, knowing that this would probably set him off.

There was a pause, she waited for some kind of reprisal, some stream of jealous curses, calling her a whore, something. Where was the bitterness she expected?

He just chuckled to himself.

"Ok," he laughed, she could see him wryly smirking to himself over the line, "You're right Sam. We are done."

Sam heard the dial tone. Had he hung up? She checked her phone, he had, call length, twelve minutes thirty two seconds. The phone's screen returned to its background pic, a pic of her, Carly and Fredifer, taken by GIbby on their last night of iCarly. Sam smiled to herself. So it was done. There was only one thing left to do, and that was to go see Freddie. That's where her stomach went for a ride on the tower of terror, lurching uncomfortably, a weight now rising in her chest from nerves. Putting her pearPhone back into her pocket, she walked into the Hospital, the swooshing doors opening for her, the latent heat that pervaded the DC fall replaced by the frigid arctic environs that was the inside of Walter Reed.

She made her way back to the waiting room, each step taking her close to possible bliss or perhaps another collision with fate. Calming herself with deep breaths, she tried to appear unperturbed when she got back to the waiting room where Carly, Griffen, Spencer, and Mrs. Benson were waiting. Socko had joined them, as well as principal Franklin, who she was surprised to see. Gibby's mother, Tasha, and Guppy were there, too, but for some strange reason they were crying. She hadn't expected them to be so torn up over Freddie, she hoped he was alright. Then she noticed that everyone looked utterly dejected, Carly was crying, along with Spencer.

"What the chizz is wrong Carls?" Sam inquired quietly to Carly, who loudly blew her nose, tears still streaming from her eyes.

"It's Gibby," she managed to croak out, " he's, he's dead Sam. He got killed on the mission that Freddie was injured on. He's g-gone…."

Sam's eyes went wide like a dinner plate, the shock of the news taking her by complete surprise.

"Wait, no, this must be a mis-" Sam said loudly, utterly dismayed. Ms. Gibson cut her off though.

"Its t-true Sam, " she stuttered out, the grief of a newly bereaved mother weighing upon her like the Earth on Atlas' shoulders. "He was killed by a sniper, s-sniper…he was helping t-t…." A new surge of tears and convulsions took the woman, the thought of her own sons flesh being wrent apart by full metal jacket was just too much for her. Guppy, his lip pouty, his eyes red and swollen, two streams of tears silently etched down his face, buried his face in his mothers breast, trying to squelch out the pain. Tasha was the most pitiful to behold though, she didn't moan, or even make so much as a peep, but the pain was written over every fiber of her body, tears streamed down her face silently, her mascara carried by the tears so that they looked as two macabre rivers of her pure unmitigated anguish.

Sam felt her own tears welling up, words to express either her grief or condolences failing her.

"I-" she began, not knowing what to say that could mean anything to anyone. No words could help here. Inwardly she hated the fact that her first thought was that she was glad that at least no new clamity had befallen Freddie, which worried her when she saw the intense mourning initially. Furthermore, as much as she would miss Gib, God how she would, she was also thankful for the fact that Freddie had not been the one to take whatever bullet it had been that had fallen the stout soldier. She hated herself for those thoughts, especially seeing the mortified state that Tasha looked to be in, it would be a miracle if this shock didn't make her miscarry, but Sam couldn't change how she felt. Nonetheless, she would let the tears flow. She would miss Gibby, and the thought of someone as solid as he, so sure of himself, such a character and a fixture in her world gone forever…nearly inconceivable.

From an adjacent hallway, Sam saw a man walking towards them from the corner of her eye. Turning to see who it was, she was surprised to see that it was a general, the medals on his uniform making a modern art masterpiece of colorful ribbons and badges that were quite an impressive display. Noticing his nameplate that read Petraeus, it seemed to ring a bell, hadn't she heard that name on the news before?

"Excuse me, " the man replied on a quiet voice, addressing Sam politely, " Do you know which one of these ladies is the mother of Private Charles Gibson?"

"Yea," Sam said tentatively back, not knowing what the man wanted, or if it would be prudent to interrupt the mother as she grieved so vehemently. "The blonde one over there…." Sam said, sad and unsure of the future.

Petraeus walked up to Ms. Gibson, lightly touching her on the shoulder.

"Y-yes?" she replied, her voice choked by mucus and emotion. Everyone was now looking at the bedecked Christmas tree of an officer. Mrs. Benson mouthed the name Petraeus as she read it on his nameplate. She knew who this was.

"My name is General David Petraeus, I'm the Commander of CENTCOM. I would like to personally, and on the behalf of a grateful nation extend my condolences for your son's death, and thank you for your sacrifice for the Freedom of our nation. I would also like to tell you that your son has been recommended for the Silver Star, and I am personally going to approve it." Petraeus looked sad, but at the same time, he looked expectant, as though Gibby's mother was supposed to thank him for the news that her dead son was being given a shiny piece of metal, one his dead eyes would never look upon.

Several moments passed, Ms. Gibson just staring at Petraeus.

"My son, my Gibby, he's dead…." Her voice was hollow, as if her soul had fled.

"I'm afraid so ma'am," Petraeus replied, not sure how to respond, "I'm terribly sorry."

The bereaved woman's lip quivered. She grabbed Tasha's hand, pulling it to her breast, kissing it as she did so.

"General," she said dazedly, " You should apologize to this woman, most of all. That's Gibby's baby that she's carrying. This is Tasha, who's gonna have to raise her boy without a daddy."

Sam smiled a bittersweet smile to herself, she hadn't heard it was a boy. Maybe he'd be like his father, a goofy lovable soul with an aversion to wearing upper garments at appropriate times.

Petraeus gulped visably. He must have hated his job at that moment.

"Ma'am, may I call you Tasha?" he asked tentatively. She didn't respond. "I'd like to extend my cond-"

"You can say sorry all you want General," she said softly, as if she was talking to the wind, her eyes staring fiercely into something that no one else could see, "But I'll tell you who needs your apology the most. This little man inside me, little Gibby."

Tasha caressed her blooming stomach tenderly, the last living cells of her husband dwelt inside her, making new life. "Right here," she whispered, pulling at the generals uniform, as if to indicate she wanted him to apologize to her belly, "tell him your sorry, tell him his daddy was a good man."

Petraeus turned white. Was this woman crazy? He had to do it though, cameras had followed him. Cautiously, he lowered his head until it was a pc, yet heartfelt distance from the womans swollen belly and uttered his condolences.

"Little man," he said sternly, "I'm awful sorry-so so sorry, that you'll never meet your father. He was a good man, and we all loved him, and are thankful for his sacrifice."

Petraeus cleared his throat and slowly rose away from Tasha's belly, coming to his usually fully erect height.

Tasha kept staring fiercly, but her morose countanence was gifted momentarily with a whisper of a smile. "He's kicking," she said softly, her smile broadening.

Petraeus then walked over to Ms. Benson, clearing his throat to get her attention, everyone was transfixed with the nearly spiritual interaction that had just occurred between Tasha, the general, and the baby. "Ms. Benson," the general said awkwardly, still recovering from the more intimate than usually condolence call that he's experienced.

"Yes," she replied meekly, trying to overcome her own set of grievances.

"If I may, I would like to speak with your son, Private Benson, if you could show me to his room, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course," she replied, rising from where she sat, removing her arm from around Ms. Gibsons shoulders. She turned to Carly, saying "Look after her, alright? I'll be right back." Carly nodded, Mrs. Benson walking off towards Freddie's room with the general.

Sam had come back, she wanted to see Freddie, and now she'd have to wait longer. Maybe not.

"Marissa?" She called out, as the woman and the officer were almost out of the waiting room, "Can I come see Freddie too?"

Mrs. Benson looked at the general, her glance inquiring as to whether or not it would be to personal a matter for Sam to intrude upon. The general nodded gingerly.

"Of course dear, Freddie would love to see you, " she said, surprising Sam yet again with her nearly maternal side that she was extending to Sam, now that tragedy had occurred.

Sam smiled outwardly, but inside it was the Christmas morning, He wanted to see her. Well shit Freddie right back at you baby, she thought. She wanted to see him more than anything. Following her two elders, she made her way to Freddie's room. The door was ajar, she could hear two men talking and joking inside, and most clearly, she could hear Freddie's voice. Damn, it was like music, like angels in a choir. It made her knees weak, it made her want to cry. It also made her a bit wet, Sam's Id was alive and well, she held no illusions about that. Come on! Her mind cried out, Go inside! I want to see that boy!

Freddie was so glad that Esquivel and Hurst had come to visit him, he was even more glad to see that neither of them were hurt. After the mission, he was practically in a daze, coming off of the adrenaline rush, he hadn't noticed if the two of them were injured, just whether or not they were all in one piece was all he needed to know for the time. But now that those two clowns were at his side, one of them with a large blonde blowup doll under his arm, Freddie couldn't have been happier. Well, only one thing was missing, something else that was blonde, had a laugh like bells pealing and azure eyes that he was just sure that if he jumped into he would find all the wonders of Atlantis beneath.

"Aw, motherfucker, man, you shoulda seen me with this bitch, she was ridin my cock like BAM BAM BAM!" cried Esquivel in mock sexual extasy, demonstrating his sexploits on the blow up doll, and looking utterly unprofessional in his ACU's. Freddie laughed heartily, "Hey, be nice to that doll! That's my lady!"

The three soldiers laughed, Esquivel continuing with his story, "Yea ese, then fuckin Hurst her joined in, and we turned this into a fuckin clusterfuck, know what I'm saying?"

"Wait," Freddie, said observantly, "you BOTH joined in? Doesn't that seem a little gay? I knew ya'll had more than just bromance goin on!"

"Naw man!" Hurst cried out in mock defense, " my balls only rubbed his about three time. I was in the ass so it was pretty much not gay…."

" Sure, sure, keep telling that to yourself, lovergay, I mean,loverboy," replied Freddie, engaging in the mixture of homophobia yet homoerotica that characterized the humor of the combat arms.

"_No dude, it was like this motherfucker, hold her like that," Hurst commanded Esquivel, who held the blow up dolls vagina up to his pelvic region again for demonstration, while he dry humped it from the rear end. "No balls touching!"_

Suddenly there was a soft knock at the door, followed by the swift entry of Ms. Benson, Petraeus, and Sam, who stood meekly behind them, still somewhat apprehensive about seeing Freddie again. The two clowning soldiers hastily assumed a stance of attention, the blow up doll floating to the ground, garnering a shocked expression from Ms. Benson, a cowing gaze from Petraeus, and a barely concealed giggle from Sam.

That little laugh was all Freddie needed, to see her hair shining in the light of the hospital room, her blue eyes, like perfect sapphires, her smile, she was all he could see, and all he wanted to gaze into forever. He realized it then, that when he ran away, what perhaps he was trying to show the world is that all he wanted to do was to fight for her love. Now though she was here, and if she would only come up to him, kiss him, be his forever, his life would be complete. That couldn't happen though, he realized, she was probably still with that creature, the reason he hated his life. Oh well lover boy, he told himself, drink in her pity while you can. She was smiling though, maybe that was a good sign.

The general stepped forward. The two clowning privates Saluted him, Freddie trying to assume a more dignified position from his bedrest, though he stiffly greeted his superior with a Salute.

"At ease gentlemen," Said the General, now becoming slightly amused with the soldiers antics, "Private Benson, I'm General David Petraeus, it's a pleasure to meet you." The general advuncularly extended his hand to the Private who grasped it firmly and shook it with his good hand.

"It's a pleasure sir," Freddie quipped back. Sam thought it was sexy when Freddie talked techie, but hearing him talk like a soldier made her want him even more. It was a becoming demeanor for him.

"Private, I'd like to extend my thanks to you, personally, and on behalf of a grateful nation…" The general began with his usual schpiel, but Freddie was again distracted by the radiant blonde deamon that again tormented him as she always had, but now, it was by her being six feet away from him, and not being physically bonded to him. Their eyes met, beaming smiles were exchange. Somehting had changed Freddie could see. Sam looked like just seeing him meant that everything that had ever weighed upon her had floated away. He knew he felt that way, and hoped that the feeling was mutual.

Freddie didn't notice that he wasn't even paying attention to the general, who kept talking, he only heard a few words, "medal of honor," "gallantry under fire," "I'm recommending you for," and "Highest national honors," but even if the words had registered, they wouldn't have amounted to shit compared to what Freddie was drinking in then and there. Sam. God he needed her. He was sure that just a kiss from her right then would have caused his mangled arm to miraculously reassemble, his slipped discs to realign, and the fractured tibia to suddenly mend, along with his heart.

"Son, son, Private Benson," Petraeus said, trying to reclaim the attention of the young wounded warrior. He looked around to see what had captured the boys attention, and was not surprised to see that it was the radiant blonde that stood behind him. Petraeus turned to Ms. Benson, saying to her and the two other soldiers in the room, (who though both at parade rest were mentally undressing Sam,) "Perhaps we should come back after the Private has had some private time with the young lady."

Ms. Benson agreed, though with the understanding that she would surely have to return and spray her son thoroughly to get any female contaminants off of him. Soon enough, Sam stood alone in the room, with Freddie, who stared back into her eyes as if he were witnessing the second coming.

She slowly approached his bed. Their smiles grew, her hand reaching out gingerly to grasp his unbuttered one. Freddie began to open his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, he was stifled with a passionate kiss, the waves of bliss washing over him. Did this mean that she wasn't with Chris anymore? The blitheness of the moment was too intense though, he couldn't have cared less. Either way, it was her who was kissing him, right? Their tongues explored each other, their hands, delicate fingers, crossing like passionate spiders traversing the sensitive parts of each others bodies, Sam being extra careful with Freddie in his delicate state of recovery.

Eventually, Sam pulled away from the kiss, her breath taken away, similarly with Freddie.

Their eyes spoke volumes to each other. So much to say. So much had happened between them, yet, it was all forgiven. Everything had changed, yet their love remained unblemished.

"Freddie," she said quietly, "I want you to know, that I swear, nothing I ever do as long as I live will be done to cause you pain, so help me God, I promise. I will always be at your side."

Freddie smiled, a tears welling up in his eyes. Those were words he wanted to hear. Words his soul needed if it were going to survive.

"I love you Sam Puckett. As much as I tried to get away from the pain, of what happened, you're all that ever mattered. I love you." The soldier, rough and ready, a cavalry scout, the tip of the spear, was melting under the adoring gaze of those two blue orbs.

"I love you Freddie Benson. I only thought about you, how I could make things right." Sam replied, equally drunk on the man in front of her.

"You don't have to baby, just stay here. Just be mine."

Sam smiled as Freddie brushed the hair out of her eyes, then wiped a tear as it blossomed In her ducts, before it could smear his mascara. He was thinking about her needs before she even had to. She couldn't help but kiss him tenderly, but before being lost in his lips, she quipped in her old fashion, "I love you nub."

It was a long time before Ms. Benson was able to re-enter the room. After that day though, the surgeons said that Recovery looked imminent.

**AN: Hey ya'll, I firstly wanted to give a big thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing so positively my story, I NEVER expected such wonderful feedback. Secondly, I wanted to apologize for having not written in so long. Just got finished with summer session midterms, two more weeks of that chizz…life just won't stop! Anyway, thanks again for reading, and to many of you out there, thanks for writing such exquisite fanfics for me to read, a good distraction from Aristotle, haha.**

**Anyway, hope you like this chapter (it's a long ass chapter!), I wanted to wait before writing it because I wanted to get it right, and I hope I did. **


End file.
